Bioluminescence
by The Puerile Bibliophile
Summary: Not all is as it seems when a Case 53 cape appears in Brockton Bay. When the truth of her origins are revealed, butterflies happen. Loosely based on the CYOA system but not to any significant degree. Don't expect that to be a reliable compass, since I've cherry-picked things and warped the ideas to better fit with the story. Rated M for a REASON... (It's the Worm-verse, after all).
1. Chapter 1

**This is un-beta-ed, so please tolerate its roughness. Please be generous and assume any minor divergences from canon are either me fiddling around with the story or just ignoring it for the sake of the Almighty Plot.**

 **I was partly inspired by the CYOA system and the Souls-verse –though I'm using them more as loose guidelines than anything so don't expect me to stick too close to either one.**

 **[Wildbow has said he doesn't mind fanfiction of his work, as long as there is a disclaimer. Thus: I own nothing of Worm or Dark Souls and make no profit off of this, wildbow is the sole owner/creator/etc of Worm at the time of writing this.]**

 **xXx**

For once, it was a quiet night at the seaside docks. The full moon shone brightly over Brockton Bay, and the cool November breeze carried the salty coarseness of the sea with it. Cast in silver moonlight, the ruins of a once-vibrant trading hub lay like the decaying body of a felled colossus; much like any corpse, scavengers flocked to its remnants.

Tonight, there were none of the normal sounds one might hear. No cracking gunfire or roaring flame, no unbridled screams of rage or accompanying cries of agony. It was a quiet night at the docks of Brockton Bay, and that –more than anything else –had its denizens on edge.

Kept warm by the cocktail of drugs in his system, Jason Muke kept watch outside of warehouse –it had long ago fallen into disrepair, its once rich red bricks were now blanketed in spray painted gang signs. Through the fog of drugs, Jason distantly remembered a time when Brockton hadn't been overrun with gangs and the town had a lively shipping trade.

It had never really been the best of towns, but time and distance made the contrast of it all seem like a golden age of civilization.

Or that could be the drugs talking, for the old man had never really been one for rumination after capes had all but replaced the military –indeed, Jason Muke had simply been a victim of downsizing and poor coping mechanisms; the Merchants were quick to capitalize on that.

The full moon shone brightly overhead, and Jason allowed his eyes to stray from the dilapidated quarter around him and to the stars above. Distracted as he was, the decorated war veteran never felt the blow that killed him.

xXx

A local woman had called in the sounds of bones breaking and terrified screaming. The emergency operator on the other side of the call had heard the death wails, and transferred the call to the PRT –the area that the caller's landline was identified to be in well-known Merchant territory.

It was far above her paygrade, really. Better to let the Protectorate handle it than to kick it to the local police and be lectured to by her boss.

Velocity, already on patrol, had been the first to arrive on the scene. He became reacquainted with his dinner soon thereafter. Bodies lay strung across the street, arms and legs –the winter's chill bleaching them all a grotesque white –were flung about with an almost careless disregard. Velocity hedged for a moment before calling in –his mask's hidden camera allowing the PRT Control to access a live feed of the situation. Miss Militia was dispatched to join the young Mover; she had experience with environments like this.

Velocity flitted from body to body, his vastly amplified speed allowing him to check each and every body's vital signs. For once, the young man wasn't bothered by his power's limitations –he didn't need much force to check for a pulse. Especially when there were none to be found.

Moving to an alleyway, Velocity remained hidden in the defensible position until his superior strode confidently into the bloody quarter –her familiarity with massacre revealing itself by the way she warily took in the scene, habitually noting each frozen pool of blood as a potential hazard. Her eyes haunted by a sick nostalgia.

"I- I didn't find any survivors," Velocity shivered. It wasn't from the cold.

"It's okay." Miss Militia's dark eyes crinkled in a vain semblance of a smile.

In her outstretched hand, Miss Militia formed a gleaming green assault rifle that Velocity didn't recognize –he just knew that it looked rather…big. Together, the two entered the warehouse, and were struck silent by what they saw there.

In the shadowed warehouse, lit only by what starlight-assisted moonlight fell through the spacious windows, stood a monstrous facsimile of a human being.

A case 53, it had to be; Velocity couldn't think of any other way to describe the person.

She stood tall and slim, easily at least six feet. From her waist up, the cape was covered in something vaguely resembling plate armor; there was the slightest swell at the cape's torso to indicate that she was, indeed, female.

Her small hands were gauntleted with each long, thin finger tapering into a silvery claw –gleaming a stained, ominous auburn in the moonlight. The woman's pale golden hair was pulled into a utilitarian braid that hung over her right shoulder, glimmering eerily in the pale moonlight. The tail-end of which was held together by an ornately carved silver clasp; it was the only jewelry she wore.

From the waist down, she wore a more segmented sort of scaled armor… no, Velocity corrected himself. Those _were_ scales. The cape stood on scaled, digitigrade legs that rippled with thick, compact muscle and ended in reptile-like feet with sharp talons that bit into the warehouse's concrete floors. A long, draconic tail swayed to and fro with an unnatural flexibility from behind the Case 53.

Later, Velocity would remark that the cape wore a porcelain sort of theater mask –completely blank in expression with only the slightest feminine features. What he would remember most, however, were the woman's eyes –they were almond-shaped and hooded by thick eyelashes that seemed to be the palest sort of gold in the moonlight and beset with a violently vibrant shade of violet.

" _Greetings_ ," a soft voice emanated from the cape before them, the sighing words lingering just a little too long in their ears.

Miss Militia seemed to relax –though the hand at her gun told Velocity better. This was a Case 53 cape, monstrous capes whose triggering had resulted in severe bodily changes and complete amnesia –of their personal history, and commonalities of the world. It was this amnesia that often led to newly awakened Case 53s to rampage in a panicked sort of frenzy –though none had been as violent as this one. _Luckily enough, it seemed that they were all just Merchants. Not too bad, the PR division can handle it._

While this situation wasn't any less hazardous, it was no longer an unknown situation. There was proven protocol to follow. And that, more than anything, served to comfort Velocity.

"Hello," Miss Militia spoke with an equally soft and gentle tone.

Like a lion tamer in front of a beast gone feral.

" _Are you here to kill me_ ," the cape asked, her odd, echoing voice tinged with an idle regret. " _These ones tried_."

Velocity strongly resisted a sort of disbelief. The bodies had originated outside, and it was obvious that the cape had forced her way in.

Violet irises turned to Velocity. Apparently he hadn't been wholly successful.

Shit.

"No," Miss Militia interjected quickly, calmly. "We're not here to hurt you, honey."

The case 53's shoulder pauldrons relaxed a hair. " _Very well_."

"Do you remember your name," Velocity forced himself to ask. It was the first question that Case 53s were asked because it was the biggest indicator of missing memory.

Confidence would appear first before fading away to confusion. Because what person can't remember their own name? Then, before panic can set in, the response team was to tell them about Case 53s and do their best to persuade them to come back to the PRT base –after all, there were informational packets for these capes and a spot guaranteed in the local Protectorate.

The countrywide demand for more heroes had nothing to do with this generosity. Nope, nothing at all.

" _Of course_."

The soft reply fell way to silence as Miss Militia and Velocity waited for the cape's confidence to move toward confusion.

The silence stretched on as the cape stared unblinkingly at them.

" _Would… you like to know_ ," the woman queried, slightly confused.

"If you can tell us," Miss Militia replied kindly, her voice full of gentle understanding even as her hand remained on her weapon –ready for an emergency.

" _Of course, my dear lord might be misanthropic –but he is anything but_ rude _. He wouldn't forbid me to give out the most basic of courtesies_!" The woman's scaled, backward knees bent oddly and the young woman flourished with a regal courtesy. " _I have taken the name Guinevere Black as my own. I am the firstborne daughter of Gwyn and the most favored of his creations_."

Miss Militia froze, and Velocity could feel his chest tighten at the young woman's introduction.

"Creation," the cape had called herself.

"My lord," she had said.

There was another cape out there –going by Gwyn –and it would seem that he could create sentient, sapient life.

Another Nilbog.

A _better_ Nilbog, it would seem.

Piggot was going to have a heart attack.

 **xXx**

 **So… It's a start, yeah?**


	2. Chapter Two: Startled Reactions

**Hello, my Lords and Ladies.**

 **Fair warning: this is un-beta-ed.**

 **Reviews are always welcome! ^.^**

 **xXx**

Piggot sat in her chair, and it was only the incessant pain of her kidneys reminding her of her dialysis appointment that kept her from leaping to her feet in fury.

"You mean to tell me," she bit out through gritted teeth. "That we have a nascent Nilbog in Brockton Bay, and you let one of his _things_ just slip through your fingers?"

Velocity snapped to attention. "Ma'am, I don't exactly think that we could have brought her in against her will. Not even with back up …No offense."

Miss Militia shook her head. "I decided that it was better to return with this new information, rather than risk our lives attacking a dangerous new cape that hadn't expressed an open hostility towards us." _Only the Merchants._

"It," Emily Piggot snarled. "That thing is not a person, no matter how lifelike it might seem."

It could have been worse. They could have extended an offer to join the PRT –not that she would have ever allowed that, of course. Monsters like Nilbog were too dangerous to keep around.

It would have been like keeping a rabid wolf leashed, just in case a burglar came trespassing.

Emily Piggot turned her harsh glare towards Miss Militia. "Two weeks on Console duty for gross negligence of your authority as senior PRT cape. After those two weeks are done, another week will be spent reeducating the Wards to follow our guidelines to the _letter_." A punishment normally reserved for the Wards.

Miss Militia made sure to nod solemnly, while she internally sighed. Director Piggot was overreacting and everyone in the room knew it. This new cape's particular skillset hit a little too close to home for the Director and she was panicking.

Albeit, controlled panicking, but still panicking nonetheless.

"Director, with the level of sentience that Guinevere Black has expressed, it might very well be that her creator has been around for a while," Velocity chimed in –the Mover no doubt thought that he was helping. He wasn't.

"So why is he openly active now," Piggot growled to herself, carefully rising out of her chair to pace the room restlessly. "Why is this... _Gywn_ revealing himself now?"

Silence reigned uncontested over the room.

xXx

Tattletale caught a glimpse of a tall, vaguely feminine silhouette walking confidently through the night –appearing to all the world as though she were strolling down to the store, rather than through the Merchant-held territory by the Docks.

The tall figure's legs moved strangely. It was as though they had been broken backwards at the kneecaps, and then left to heal. But the mystery-woman's stride was too graceful, too fluid, to allow for any injury that serious.

Insatiable curiosity piqued, Tattletale flicked her power towards the woman.

 _Digitigrade legs with a strong, too-flexible tail to maintain balance. Not a normal cape. Not a Case 53 –too much confidence to indicate the associated memory loss. Possible Changer or projection. Dense armor might mean otherwise. Intricacy of the armor is of professional make. Tinkertech?_

The silhouette stilled, and twisted oddly in the shadows of the alley. Violently vibrant eyes _gleamed_ out of the shadows with a passionate curiosity that Tattletale recognized all too well.

It was the tone in Regent's voice when something actually managed to draw his interest.

It was the look that she read in Coil's body language when he drilled her for information.

It was the delighted glint that she had seen in the mirror too many times before.

 _Intensely curious about her surroundings. Nonnative. New to Brockton Bay. Too curious –never been away from her hometown? Young. Curious like a child but confident in her ability to handle danger. Either naive or highly trained. Likely a teenager._

Tattletale blinked in surprise. Teenager? That tall, armored woman was a teenager? If that were true, she would eat her shoe.

 _ **Dangerous!**_ Tattletale's power screamed at her when her eyes met the cape's. _Unnatural iris color._ _ **Danger!**_ _Biology is illogical for a non-Case 53 cape._ _ **Dangerous!**_ _Body has an unnaturally perfect symmetry –likely an artificial thing by design._ _ **Danger!**_ Genuinalle _curiosity means sentience and_ sapience _at human-like levels._

 _ **Run!**_ Tattletale's power began to wail in agony. Her power had poked something and something had poked her power back.

Fuck Coil's scouting mission, she wanted to live! Tattletale turned on a dime and sprinted as quickly as she could in the opposite direction, ignoring the blood that ran in red rivulets from her nostrils.

Oblivious to her concern, vibrant eyes watched Tattletale's fleeing form with a surprised confusion.

xXx

It was early morning, and Daniel Hebert stood facing the building that housed the DWU.

His job didn't matter, not really.

Every day he would try and find jobs for good people, but Danny rarely found more than a few. It was a losing battle in a town like Brockton Bay, with more and more of his employees turning to hiring themselves out to villains like Uber and Leet –or worse in some cases, the Merchants.

It was all that Daniel Hebert could do to bring himself to work, to try and eke out a living for himself and other innocent men and women at the Docks. It was all that he could do to pay the bills, to take studious care of his hygiene –he was the only breadwinner in the house, so Danny forced himself through the rote motions of self-care out of a mix of paternal duty and mechanical habit –and put food on the table. Often the meal was just something quick and delivered, eaten at a too-empty table with silence filling the distance between him and his daughter.

Through the pain of living in the Bay, Danny still couldn't bring himself to move away from this shithole of a town; it would hurt more to leave than to stay.

This was where he had met Annette. She had been a fiery woman, even then. Filled to the brim with a righteous indignation at the treatment of women and the widespread discriminatory practices that were commonplace in America during their youth.

She had been a member of Lustrum's movement –before the violence began, _according court documents_ –and they had met at a protest. Danny had been smitten instantly, though Annette had taken a while to even give him the time of day.

But she had.

Eventually, Annette chose Danny just as much as Danny had chosen her, and they were married soon after.

They had Taylor, and things were perfect for the _longest_ time.

But then…

" _Greetings_ ," A low, gentle voice interrupted Danny's thoughts. Not that he had been thinking about anything in particular at that point –more just staring into the middle distance, his mind smothered under the blanket of apathy.

The whispered word echoed unnaturally in Danny's ear, and made goosebumps rise on his arms. This was a cape.

Slowly, with an exaggerated care, Danny turned to face the woman who had spoken to him…

Shit.

Towering over his own impressive height was the slim figure of a young woman in silver plated armor that reflected the weak rays of the rising sun in a brilliant display of artistry. Her pale golden hair was plaited into a utilitarian braid and vibrantly curious eyes glinted from underneath what Annette would have described as a rather plain Venetian mask.

"Hello," Danny hesitantly returned her welcome. "How may I help you?"

The young cape contorted into a regal curtsy –and Danny noticed then that her legs were twisted around like a colt's, but were plated with interlocking scales –with one hand fisted over her heart and the other swayed out to the side. " _I have chosen the name Guinevere Black as my own. I am the firstborne daughter of my lord Gwyn. I am, by far, most favored of his children_."

Rising out of her curtsy, she looked at him expectantly, her scaled tail swaying back and forth with all the flexibility of a cat watching a canary.

Struck by the oddness of it all, it took Danny a moment.

"Oh! Sorry, erm. I'm Daniel Hebert –call me Danny, please." He awkwardly hastened to add, distantly feeling the light burn of embarrassment. "I am . . . husband of Annette Hebert and father to Taylor Hebert."

It hurt too much to say "the late Annette." The mere thought of it tore his heart asunder, piercing through the miasma of numbed indifference that pressed against him. Some emotion flickered in the cape's violet eyes, but it was gone before Danny could muster the energy to even consider deciphering it.

" _You mourn far too well_ ," Guinevere Black echoed with a bitter understanding as her tail flicked to the side, twisting farther than Danny would have thought anatomically possible. " _You have become too well traveled in grief's void_."

Danny Hebert felt a spark of indignation at the youth's blunt observation, but a quiet, darker side of him whispered that she was right.

When was the last time he had talked to Taylor? When had she wanted to visit Emma last? Surely it couldn't have been long ago, but Danny struggled to remember. How was her school going, again? Annette had once had concerns about Taylor going to Winslow...

Before he could say anything, though, Danny heard Curtis shout from inside the building.

"Boss! I just got a call, the Merchants are heading our way!"

Blood slowly began to pound in his ears, and Danny bit back a string of profanities –no _way_ was he expanding this poor girl's vocabulary like Kurt and John had done to Taylor a few years back. This was no doubt retribution for snatching away some of their crew. Lately, Danny had been able to secure a few _legitimate_ jobs for some former Dockworkers that had been forced to turn to the gangs for income.

As long as they were still clean, Danny would vouch for them. _Had_ vouched for them. That policy, however questionable, had kept good men and women off the streets more times than he could recall.

And now, it would seem that Skidmark didn't approve of the DWU thinning their numbers any more than the coked up idiot appreciated the PRT doing the same; unlike the PRT, the Union didn't have any capes, and was thus vulnerable. An easier target.

The thought infuriated Danny.

" _Come_ ," Guinevere's voice was no less commanding for its softness as she marched towards the Union building. " _As their liege, you must protect your men_."

The young cape turned back to face him. " _For your Taylor's sake, I will protect her father. Then you will act in a manner better fit for your fatherhood."_

Danny only hesitated for a heartbeat before adrenaline began to clear his mind and strengthen his body. These scum wanted to break this town and tear down everything that he had worked so hard to build.

No more.

Any mindless animal can break and destroy, but it takes something else entirely to create, to build a better future. And these _gangbangers_ dared to try and corrode Danny's efforts further?

No more.

This town does enough of that passively. A mayor that is too busy whoring himself out to campaign donors to bother deigning to look down upon the very city that he manages. A PRT that's too busy with pageantry and bureaucracy to clean out Brockton Bay's flood of human filth.

No more.

Danny refused to allow this to go on anymore. If he was going to live here with his daughter, then Daniel Hebert was going to _mold_ Brockton Bay into a place worthy of his daughter. The pounding heartbeat in his ears suddenly seemed like a war drum, marking his steps towards battle.

 **xXx  
**

 **I tried to characterize Guinevere a little bit more through other characters, since her own POV would bring** _ **major**_ **spoilers for the story down the road (though you will see through her eyes eventually… maybe. Eh, just not right now).  
**


	3. Chapter Three: An Overeager Response

"Well, _fuck_ me sideways! Ain't it the big boss man of the union?" the speaker was wrapped in stained, soiled caricatures of clothing, his jaundiced eyes fixating on Danny with a focused intensity that only the most caustic of drugs could provide.

Curt, standing at the ready with the rest of his fellow dockworkers, was armed with a sturdy two-by-four and little else. So when his boss marched in with a familiar (if rusty) look of murderous rage on his face, looking far more animated than he had been in _months_ , Curt breathed easier.

Of course, that relief was immediately undercut by the fact that his boss walked beside an unnaturally large cape. No one recognized her, and that worried Curt more than her status as parahuman.

Unknown parahumans were either very new or very capable villains… and Curt didn't want either watching his back when the Merchants decided to try for a Darwin Award.

The young woman towered over the tall Danny, her imperially slim figure protected by thick, silver plate armor. The pale gold strands of her hair, tied into a practical braid, reflected the dawn's light in an ethereal halo of light.

Curt's tired eyes gravitated toward her legs.

 _Lizard_ -like scales coated the cape's legs –he refused to even _think_ the word "dragon" in a town with Lung in it. Those thick, corded legs bent backward at the knee, ending in clawed _reptilian_ feet… which made Curt's internal commitment all the more difficult.

"What up, cracker? Ya gonna let my boys be, or are we gonna have to fuckin' show you why you don't fuck with the Merchants?" God, Curtis could smell the rot in the methhead's mouth all the way from across the street.

Skidmark stumbled forward, wildly swearing the whole way. Then, his slightly-vacant eyes finally caught sight of the colossal cape standing beside Danny. Black eyes, bleary and bloodshot met too-bright, violet eyes, and the Merchant's stream of profanities ran dry.

The armored cape strode forward, each step mindfully measured so that her curled talons stretched to gently grip the concrete, rather than rip into it like the springtime's fertile, loamy dirt... Curt felt a wave of homesickness for his boyhood farm, and cursed the day that he decided to move to the "big city." Teenagers made for poor decision makers.

" _Greetings, peddler_." The cape's voice echoed ominously throughout the docks, her soft words lingering in Curt's ears for far too long after she stopped speaking.

With an idle gesture, a giant slab of a shield wavered into existence and fell into her left hand and while an impossibly large sword materialized into her right.

The shield was nearly as tall as she was. Stone grey, the shield looked like it was intricately and _delicately_ carved. Though what the design was, Curt couldn't tell in the dawn's weak light –he was struck with the errant thought that it was as much a piece of art as it was a tool.

" _Daniel Hebert, liege of this place and leader of these men, is under my protection_." The cape raised her curved greatsword in an odd salute as she swore the oath. Okay, so not a villain, then.

If her shield was the picture of utility and artistry wedded together, then her sword was a study of cruel practicality. Its plain blade bore no designs or carvings, no crossguard to speak of (ornate or otherwise), and its handle was little more than a linen wrap.

Still, the length of the blade was easily as tall as the young woman –and perhaps half again, besides –and the blade seemed to crackle silently, dangerously. It reminded Curt of an animal leashed, snapping territorially at the length of its rope, though the dockworker couldn't fathom where the thought had come from. It looked to be little more than a bladed piece of curved metal.

How wrong he was.

Skidmark thrust his hands forward in a drunkenly exaggerated motion and the area around him began to shine a brilliant blue. "Get the fucking cocksucking bint!"

The swarm of drugged out gangbangers charged at the armored cape, and she readied her weapons in response.

She launched herself to meet her combatants, muscular legs rippling with effort. Sparks and curses flew in equal measure as the cape crashed into the onslaught of Merchants. Knives slashed at silver plate, the armor turning away the knives with ease.

The curved sword –now sparking with thick bands of lightning, crackling with the staccato of a monstrous laughter –slashed to and fro in _impossibly_ swift strikes, trails of light leaving sunspot-afterimages in its wake.

With every slash, a limb fell to the ground, twitching with electricity racing through the severed muscles.

With every slash, the caustic, cloying odor of burned flesh and ozone filled the air.

Curtis lost track of the young woman's graceful maneuvering as he slammed his own two by four into the legs of a Merchant that decided to take a chance at the dockworkers. A satisfying crunch sounded to his ears as the gangbanger fell to the ground, clutching his ruined kneecaps.

A vicious smirk wormed its way onto Curt's face as he swung his makeshift weapon against another's head. The resounding crack broke the wooden beam and the thug lay insensate on the ground, blood pooling from his spot head.

Curt felt sickened by his own satisfaction and nausea pooled in his stomach as he caught a glimpse at the twitching of a nearby disconnected leg. Curt faltered.

The armored cape was suddenly in front of Curt, positioning herself in front of the dockworker with her massive shield raised in front of her. A barrage of bullets pinged against it uselessly, she angled the wall of a shield _just_ so –directing the ricochet of the bullets against Skidmark's zone of powered protection.

In the midst of all the commotion, Curt couldn't help but notice that Danny's cape had a scaled _lizard_ -like tail that it swung to and fro with an eagerness that unsettled the man. He hoped that it was only swaying with the young woman's movements to keep her balanced, but it seemed far too much like a tiger's mirthful swaying tail to reassure Curt.

God, not another bloodthirsty one.

Brockton Bay wouldn't be able to handle it.

The constant stream of bullets faltered as Skidmark began to curse even louder. The stream of deflected bullets broke through his protection and pierced his calf. Nonfatal but distracting.

The remaining Merchants paused for a heartbeat in surprise. However, that moment of hesitation gave the dockworkers the advantage. With roars of anger, they surged upon their would-be murderers, knocking them out quickly and with an impressive economy of motion.

Danny's cape, for her part, leapt the distance and felled her blade in a crackling, blinding arc.

 _Shluck_.

Skidmark's screaming curses –enough to make even _Curt_ blush –turned into agonized wailing as his legs were removed above the knee, joining the tangled mass of removed limbs. The masked woman casually knocked Skidmark out with the flat of her blade, and a terrified quiet fell.

Just like that, the fight was over.

But the nauseating stench that permeated the air kept Curt from cheering. They had survived, yes… Curt looked out over the tangled mass of bodiless limbs and insensate gangbangers and felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.

" _Ah_ ," the violent cape sighed in relief, peering out to the dockworkers and finding none of them obviously hurt. Her weapons wavered for a moment before vanishing into the nothingness from which they came. Turning on a dime, the young woman almost _bounced_ on her heels as she returned to Danny's side.

" _A promise made, a promise kept. Your Taylor has her father still_."

She bounded over to the group of dockworkers, and they flinched at her sudden movement. The armored cape paused uncertainly, but Danny spoke before her confusion had a chance to fade into hurt.

"T-thank you, Guinevere," Danny smiled shakily, adrenaline obviously still coursing through him, now useless since the fight was over. He tossed his sledgehammer aside. "I'll… I'll do better."

Violet eyes –the only thing visible through the girl's blank, austere mask –crinkled with the sign of a small smile. " _Earn your title_."

Danny rang the police and the cape – _Guinevere_ –stood off to the side, observing the dockworkers like they were a puzzle that she couldn't quite figure out. Apparently she hadn't forgotten their reaction to her.

Curt simply cursed the fact that he was born into interesting times.

 **xXx**

 **So… I needed a stock dockworker's point of view for this scene and I waited until I was done typing it up before naming him. My brain offered up the name Curt and... Honestly? My tired, sleep-deprived brain** _ **was**_ **probably thinking about Kurt.**

 **Chalk it up to normie human forgetfulness, yeah?**

 **(Though if I do end up recycling Curt later on, I'm definitely going to poke fun at there being a Curt** _ **and**_ **a Kurt!)**


	4. Chapter 4: First Impressions

**Hello cyber readers!**

 **Some fun stuff in this chapter :3**

 **As usual, this is un-beta-ed and quite rough, besides. You've been warned!**

 **xXx**

" _A Tinker_?"

"Yes. It's a classification of parahuman. Tinkers can create or alter devices beyond the inherent restrictions of a cape's knowledge, resources, or natural physics. Tinkers have an area of specialty where their abilities either operate exclusively or are, in general, more effective."

It was Armsmaster who had shown up to the Union building, taking statements as PRT troopers efficiently loaded the unconscious –and more often than not, maimed –bodies of the Merchants into PRT patrol vans.

After Guinevere's passing mention of Gwyn, Armsmaster had made the mistake of interrogating the young woman for more information about her father. After she confirming that, yes the man had indeed created her, and _yes, Guinevere does in fact have other siblings_ , Armsmaster had concluded that this "Gwyn" must be a sort of biotinker along the lines of Nilbog. Mere confirmation of earlier speculation, but valuable still.

" _Ah, forgive me. I know what Tinkers are_ ," Guinevere's soft voice hedged for a moment before soldiering on –though now with an apologetic undertone. " _It is simply that my lord regards tinkers with a sort of idle contempt… or pity, on his better days_."

"Pity," Armsmaster repeated, his voice flat. Tinkers were some of the most flexible and versatile parahumans. When someone said "Brute," people knew vaguely what to expect –the usual assortment of regeneration, strength, or immunity powers –and barring an unusual cape, they were right. But a Tinker could be anything from Blasto with his plant-specialized biotinkering abilities to Leet, who could build anything once.

Anything.

Was it any wonder that of all newly triggered parahumans, it was Tinkers that were the most pursued? It was rare for a new Tinker to remain independent a month after their unveiling, and two months was almost unheard of. They were either killed off by a gang, forcibly recruited, or fled into the ready arms of the PRT. For someone to openly disregard Tinkers as a whole… It simply wasn't done.

Tinkers were too dangerous for that. A fact that Armsmaster secretly prided himself on.

"May I ask why," Armsmaster forced himself to politely inquire. Since his initial arrival, Guinevere had expressed a 7.92% increase in compliancy when he was courteous. This indicated a similarly polite home environment. He would have to make note of that in her file.

It could be useful.

" _My lord asserts that Tinkers rarely understand their own works. That this is why tinkertech must be maintained by its creator, and why it cannot be mass produced_ ," Guinevere explained. " _Tinkers often do not know how or why their creations function, only that they do_."

Armsmaster bit down an impolite retort but took note of this revelation to add it to "Gywn's" file when he got back to his lab. Director Piggot had been rather insistent that they bring any detail (no matter how minor) about this new biotinker "Gwyn" directly to her.

Such an inefficient use of his time.

"Would you please join me at the Rig," Armsmaster requested politely. He suspected that it came out a bit forced.

"Not without me," Danny interrupted whatever Guinevere's reply might have been. "Guinevere is a minor without her father present and I refuse to allow you to simply railroad her into joining the Wards! If she decides to join, then it'll be because _she_ wants to."

Guinevere blinked in surprise and Armsmaster was careful to keep his lower face neutral, even as he glared daggers at the Union employee. Mr. Hebert was a well-known figure in Brockton Bay for passionately fighting against anti-union legislation and ensuring profitable work for those under his responsibility. In the past, Daniel Hebert had been a fiery man with an inflexible will and quick temper, going toe-to-toe with several of the Bay's past mayors, an array of corporate heads –Maxwell Anders not the least among them –and even _Piggot_ on occasion.

Each and every time, the Dockworker's Union had come out better in the end with either work contracts or binding safety agreements. It had been a bit of a guilty relief around the Rig when Mr. Hebert's effectiveness took a steep dive when his wife died. Sure, the man still fought the city government and lobbied for more jobs for the dockworkers –even succeeding at times –but the fire within Daniel had gone out. It had been one less battle for the PRT to fight.

It would seem that Daniel Hebert was back, and Armsmaster could _feel_ the efficiency of the Protectorate decrease.

xXx

Did Velocity really think that Guinevere was a paltry six feet and some change? No. That was the hesitant guess of an exhausted Mover who had stumbled upon the scene of a mass murder while working the third shift patrol alone –something that Piggot had already reamed Armsmaster for. In truth, Guinevere was easily seven feet tall, awkwardly ducking through each doorway and standing head and shoulders above even Armsmaster, cocooned as he was in power armor.

"We have you readily confessing to the murder of no less than fifteen people last night, and then _less than twenty hours later_ , we find out today that you were involved in the brutal maiming of at least twelve more," Piggot sneered. "That's not going to look good in front of a judge."

Of course, no one really cared, they were Merchants after all, but Piggot wanted this _thing_ in the Birdcage immediately. Costa Brown had talked (bullied, manipulated, reasoned and had at last resorted to simply ordering) the director into settling with the cape "Guinevere" and her "father" joining the Protectorate.

It seemed that the Chief Director was hell-bent on leashing the rabid wolf, but Piggot would be damned if she allowed it to be leashed to _her_ jurisdiction! So when the cape and his creatures joined the Protectorate, they would be kicked to another town.

That left Emily Piggot with the unenviable chore of strong-arming the two into joining, and she couldn't quite keep her scowl suppressed. It was obvious that this new biotinker would be just as bad as Nilbog, if not worse!

Why couldn't the Chief Director Brown see that?

" _Please_ , any half competent lawyer could make the case for self-defense in either case," the balding beanpole beside Guinevere easily rebutted.

Ah, yes. Daniel Hebert was back. What. A. Joy.

Emily shelved her budding frustration at the reemergence of this old annoyance rearing his head again. There were simply more important things to deal with.

" _The former sought to kill me_ ," the tall beast spoke in her deceptively soft voice. Its unnatural, lingering echo revealed the thing's true nature to the director. " _And then the latter would have killed Daniel Hebert. He is under my protection_."

Not "I couldn't allow that" or "what else was I to do" Instead, it would seem that Hebert had somehow manipulated his way into this thing's good graces. The implications were… not good, however interesting they might be.

"Do you have any proof," Piggot snapped back. "And you, Mr. Hebert… You should be careful not to be an _accessory_ to such a dangerous cape."

Danny Hebert lifted his chin defiantly –which had the serendipitous side effect of allowing him to look down upon the squat woman. "Skidmark admitted that the Merchants _visited_ the DWU because we've been depriving them of members, not because of any machinations on Guinevere's part. I would be glad to testify that in court, and provide security footage from the building to that effect."

"Yes, this 'protection' of yours." Piggot turned to the statuesque cape. "And _you_ should be careful about declaring such things. Who knows how other interested parties might take it?"

" _Daniel Hebert is a father who now seeks to fulfill his title's demands,"_ Guinevere replied coolly, her eyes just as blank as the mask that she wore. " _Who would I be if I did not try to keep him alive so that he has the opportunity to make amends_?"

Piggot's eyes gleamed with savage eagerness. "You admit that –"

"Are you going to charge her, or summon her father? Because nothing Guinevere says without her father present is admissible in court and if you're not going to charge her, then we're leaving."

Piggot ignored the aging Dockworker as cold, vibrant eyes locked onto her own. " _Love is affection wedded to will. It is an emotion bonded to action, and neither can be separated from the other without losing the product. Without the emotion, the action rings hollow and lacks substance. Without the action, the emotion is stagnant and wasted._ " Even in that flat, empty tone the words were spoken with a well-worn familiarity.

" _Daniel Hebert has lived without providing action and now seeks_ – _"_

"Love?! What would a monstrous _thing_ like you know about love?"

" _My lord Gwyn, of course. He is my_ Father."

A deep reverberation rocked the building, shaking the Rig's windows with its intensity before either Danny or Piggot could respond.

Guinevere stiffened as it ceased, her plate armor clinking at the swift abruptness. " _I must go_."

Daniel glanced at the much-taller girl, concern and confusion vying for dominance on his face. Indeed, there was a curious note in her unnatural voice, and Piggot took note of it, even if she was unsure of what it was. It was the first overt emotion that the cape had shown throughout the… interview. The director would have to review the security footage later on. This might provide some insight into the thing's character –such as it might have been _built_ to have one.

"We're not done and you're not going anywhere."

Another wave of low, almost inaudible sound rushed over the Rig and the windows cracked at the force of it. Distantly, Piggot categorized it as not dissimilar to a whale song –deep and almost musical in its foreignness, all but inaudible to humans.

" _It wasn't a request_."

xXx

Panic reigned uncontested in the streets of Brockton Bay as Protectorate and the police alike scrambled chaotically, flooding their respective chains of command with hysteric questions – _what is it,_ _what do we do, is this a new Endbringer, what is it, do we blare the sirens,_ what do we do?

Standing in front of the rig stood a gargantuan man, his broad chest barely constrained by a dark, silken robe and highlighted by interlocking pates of silvery armor. He towered well above the lampposts and the city's taller trees, looking down upon the denizens of the Bay as a man might an antpile. Obsidian-black hair fell in a tangled mess to the giant's shoulders and his equally black beard was cropped to a square jawline, highlighting the sharpness of it. Bronzed skin, corded and thick with muscle, contrasted starkly with the almost aphotic nature of the creature's hair.

Luminous, yellow-gold eyes _burned_ with an unsettling ferocity. Made all the more eerie by the fact that there was no discernible sclera or iris within the giant's eyes. Just fiery spheres set into its eye sockets, swirling and sparking with the intensity of a star gone supernova.

The colossus faced the PRT building with his countenance carved into a glare of righteous rage. One hand –each finger containing an extra knuckle –raised toward the sky, and the not-quite noontime morning darkened until the pale moon and her astral assistants firmly reestablished themselves above. With the morning sun now less helpful than a full eclipse, the titan's eyes now pierced through the dark like an unholy lighthouse.

" _ **Where. Is. My. Daughter**_ **.** "


	5. Chapter Five: A Parting of Ways

Vista skipped school because she knew something that the other Wards didn't.

The adults around the Rig –both Protectorate and PRT alike –never bothered to tell the Wards anything _really_ important, but they usually ended up finding out anyway. Adults simply never failed to underestimate children, and they always seemed to overlook Vista specifically. Always forgetting that, despite of her age, Vista actually held more seniority than Director Piggot herself. A fact that Vista brought up all the time, conveniently ignoring that her seniority was by less than a week.

Vista's common protests were universally ignored or remarked upon with all the seriousness of tomorrow's weather.

Right now, however, Vista was never happier to be overlooked. The adults quietly whispered when she happened to be near, or when they _were_ alone, forgot about her unique powers. A power that Vista often abused shamelessly, twisting and compressing space so that she and the other Wards could eavesdrop on troopers.

Talkative troopers who were confident in their privacy.

Vista snickered. They should really have paid the rulebook more than a quick glance. It had several warnings about her powers, omnipresent tinkertech cameras, and operational security; there was no such thing as complete privacy on the Rig.

Or anywhere else, really.

She had been at the Rig the night before, working with Kid Win to test some of his new equipment. Vista wasn't scheduled to do it, but she hadn't exactly been told _not_ to… Really, Vista would do just about anything to keep from returning to _that_ house. Then she had "heard" some troopers carelessly whispering about a new, young Case 53 that Velocity and Miss Militia had stumbled across. The cape had apparently gotten their attention but for some reason, hadn't been brought to the Rig that night.

Because of that, Piggy went on her usual tomato-faced tirade about riding everyone's asses harder than usual –not that Vista even thought that possible. This time, however, the director was even going as far as to force the Wards (and only the Wards) to sit through a dry, dull mandatory lecture on the PRT's tangled web of bureaucratic red tape.

Yay.

Then, early this morning, Armsmaster answered an emergency on the Docks that a dispatcher on a "coffee" break was saying involved the very same cape... Maybe Assault would have been a better person to send. Case 53s almost always ended up joining the Protectorate, but Armsmaster was a dick and Brockton Bay was also home to Faultline's crew of mercenaries.

Vista knew that she would probably join the villainous crew just to spite Armsmaster… probably.

Shoving her internal debate aside, she hovered in a corner near the Rig's entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person who would end up becoming their newest member. Maybe it would be an actual girl this time –Icarus, for all his silence, was still a _boy_. Still, Vista would settle for someone nice and _maybe_ not too annoying. The Wards already had that in spades.

When Weld was found, there was some scuttlebutt about him being moved to the Brockton Bay… nothing ever came of it. Battery had mentioned at the time that it was pretty normal for Case 53s to be kept in the same town they woke up in.

Something about providing some "comfortable familiarity in the area they worked." Personally, Vista thought it would be better to move a Case 53 _away_ from the strange place they woke up in, panicking with no memory of where they were or who they are. But that would be reasonable, and Vista had learned long ago that the Protectorate was anything but reasonable. 

After all, the Wards were led by the oldest, rather than the most _experienced_ member. Idiots.

The door opened, and Armsmaster led a tall, balding man inside –

Wait, was that Mr. Hebert? Mr. Fire and Rage, _Call-Me-Danny,_ Hebert? What was he doing here? Vista hadn't seen the gangly man in months and had been mildly put out by it. Mr. Hebert used to come in to yell at Director Piggot fairly often –a cathartic experience for all the Wards (and most of the senior Protectorate), not that they would admit it.

They weren't _suicidal_.

The Case 53 that Vista had heard about came inside, ducking awkwardly through the thick doors of the Rig. Vista gasped aloud at the pretty cape. Slender, the cape stood well over Armsmaster in his power armor and wore a silvery sort of… _plate_ armor?

Vista suppressed an incredulous giggle at the sight of such an outdated thing, though she couldn't deny that the interlocking plates were a sight to see.

The cape's white-gold hair was pulled into a short, practical braid that Vista, herself, used when the PR team would allow her to get away with it. The young woman wore a curiously blank face mask that only revealed her violet, almond-shaped eyes. Vista _felt_ the weight of her stare when the cape scanned the room. As the group walked past her, Vista noticed the odd stride of the Case 53. Her legs were weird… Kinda like Lung's when he _really_ got going. Awesome!

What was much less awesome were the _loudass_ alarms that filled the building less than an hour later. The Rig, attacked by some sort of sound-based weaponry, clambered to respond to the threat.

Vista rushed out before Armsmaster or Miss Militia could tell her not to, and stopped on a dime as soon as she stepped outside.

The midday sun had been smothered, and a full moon cast the Bay in an argent light with the aid of the stars above. God, the stars. They were an astral sea that made Vista's head spin in vertigo with the very vastness of it! Never before had she seen so many or so _clearly_! As clearly defined as they were, she could actually make out all the constellations that she had been taught several years prior.

Like gravity, her eyes were drawn to the towering figure standing in front of the Rig like an ancient titan straight out of Vista's textbooks. The mountainous being loomed over streetlamps and sidewalk trees alike, dressed in a dark robe-thing that accentuated his thick chest with a familiar, silvery armor of interlocking plates. He glared at her with those swirling, scary spheres of yellow-gold _lanced_ through the unnatural darkness, and the young Ward struggled to look directly at him.

 **"Where. Is. My. Daughter."**

The enormous man's voice washed over Vista with the weight of a tsunami, saturating the thrumming air around her with its resounding bass. The ground underneath her feet shivered in response and when the echo of this titan's voice died, a palpable silence replaced it, filling Brockton Bay.

There were no car alarms, no shouts of glee or anger. No midday birdcalls or raunchy Merchant catcalls. No grief-stricken moans or terrified screams from the homeless. The city itself held her breath and the air thickened with a cloying tension.

Not one person dared to break it.

In spite of the winter's cold embrace, Vista felt slick with a nervous sweat.

The glass doors –now rendered a shattered mess by the timbre of the giant's voice –burst open and the Case 53 from before ran out, her scaled legs leaping across the between Vista and the thing before them. Behind the cape, PRT troopers rushed out, encircling Vista in a protective circle that did little to put her at ease.

" _My lord_!" A soft, echoing voice emanated from the young woman. " _My lord, what_ are _you doing_?"

The colossus of a man strode forward, and she felt the strangled urge to warn the poor woman away. The titan towered over the older girl, even more than she, herself, towered over Vista. The mantle of power that cloaked the figure before them impressed upon Vista an unspoken threat of swift retribution.

A promise made all the more frightening for the displeased scowl the marred his face.

 **"Guinevere,"** the giant spoke softly, and the newfound gentleness of his voice threatened to smother his words under the sheer reverberation of his oceanic voice. **"Why have you left home?"**

 _"My lord, I love you dearly… but I am my own person."_ The armored cape strode slowly up to the bronzed titan and Vista felt her heartbeat hammering in her ears. _"Even though it goes against my heart to flee from home like a thief in the night,_ you _left me little other choice._ "

The titan bent to one knee –Vita felt a flash of fear when the armored kneecap dug into the dense concrete like it was loose sand –and spared a baleful glance to the PRT troops surrounding the young Ward. **"My child, these people will only disappoint you. I have seen their hearts and they are** _ **lacking!**_ **They entreat calamity with their passivity, deliberately engendering hatred in the hearts of their constituents so they might but breathe for another** _ **moment!**_ **Guinevere, these people flagrantly disregard their own posterity; they look not to the horizons that lay before them, but to the gold that they would hoard."**

The Case 53 –Guinevere? –stretched her dragony legs to their upmost, balancing her not-insignificant height atop her talons and reached up toward the gargantuan man. He bent farther and her clawed gauntleted hand tenderly cupped his bearded face, hidden in the black of his beard. " _How can they be any different? My lord, you have sealed your children away in your lands and still you find fault with what these people do without your aid. I_ cannot _remain in that ivory tower, knowing how they drown below us."_

Blazing, blinding golden globes of spinning, sparking light intensified.

" **I should remove this distraction of yours, Guinevere. These children are not worth the attention that you waste on them."**

Vista's heart skipped a beat.

" _But you won't."_

Hair darker than the empty void between stars dipped as the man lowered his head. Voice wavering, his next words were all but buried underneath his rumbling, resonant bass. **"They will not thank you."**

Vista couldn't hear Guinevere's soft reply, but whatever it was… it made the gigantic man suddenly rise to his feet and the PRT troops panicked, firing their tinkertech weapons at the threat before them. Pale blue slugs froze and flickered into nonexistence before they crossed _half_ the distance between their protective circle and Guinevere, let alone the titan himself.

Vista's heart seized at the dismissive disgust in those smoldering yellow-gold eyes. " **Look upon your championed people, my daughter, and behold their** _ **glory**_ **."**

Guinevere silently held her head high as Gywn turned his back on her, walking away. With every immense step, the space around his silhouette wavered. With every thunderous step, the distortion grew and childish curiosity made Vista –her quaking fear fading now that the colossus had deigned to leave –flicked her power towards the odd distortions.

Immediately, her stomach revolted and Vista's breakfast eagerly embraced the road. The distortion was so much _more_ than that. He was doing what she could do, but on a scale that Vista couldn't begin to fathom. 

Vista ignored the bitter, acrid tang of stomach acid burning in her mouth.

The giant was punching – _tearing, twisting, ripping, razing, breaking through to_ –a hole in… something. In everything? Through nothing? He bent it, compressing it across a vast distance and rendering her sense of direction useless. Up was left and right was down, every step was a step that traversed a space beyond _space_. Vista could only gawk at the incomprehensible mess that her power struggled to interpret for her.

When Vista could only just make out the silhouette through the obscuring miasma, a corona of yellow-gold power flared out like a soul made manifest, blinding everyone with its cold intensity. Vista's vision slowly returned, and she saw Guinevere standing by herself in the middle of an empty street, staring at the empty spot that her beloved lord had occupied just a moment ago.

The Case 53 turned on a dime, facing the skittish throng of armed troopers with a crinkle by her eye that might have been intended to be a smile. _"All is well. I am the most favored of my lord's children._ "

The cheery note in cape's lingering voice rung just a little too hollow in Vista's ears.

xXx

In a spare timeline, Coil had Tattletale strapped to a chair. The young blonde bled from several deep cuts, light gashes, and severe lacerations that crisscrossed her naked body like a horrifying parody of a tiger's stripes. Her eyes were blackened (bruised to the point of swelling shut) and leaking tears that served only to further irritate her mangled eyes. Twin streaks of cleanliness marked the pilgrimage of those tears down her marred face.

Idly, Coil rather thought the girl looked like a panda or raccoon at the moment.

"I already told you _everything_!" the young girl's hoarse voice broke once more.

Coil's mind raced as he silently prowled around his tool's chair. When Tattletale called in the night before to report that she had abandoned the Empire investigation, he had been… upset. He _needed_ those names. So when she held up a paltry "dangerous cape" excuse, Coil scheduled a meeting for the following afternoon.

Then that… _thing_ appeared, blocking out the morning sun with a gesture and cowing the Protectorate's response team into submission with its unheard threats. It communed with its "daughter" and left, leaving a terrified Brockton Bay in its wake.

Coil didn't even know if the huge creature was some extreme sort of Cape 53 –as many specialists on PHO had begun to speculate –because Cauldron was radio silent. His moles within the PRT were useless, since the organization (in a stunningly rare moment of brilliance) had locked up the information tighter than anything that Coil had encountered before. There were no digital records, all paper documents that pertained to the event were being held under Emily's _direct_ oversight, and none of the more senior members were being told more than they absolutely needed to know. 

Indeed, compartmentalization was the enemy of espionage.

This cape –if it could even be called that –was a game changer and Coil needed _information_. Should he bring this thing under his thumb? Could he arrange some sort of nonaggression pact like he had with Cauldron? Would Coil be forced to eliminate the cape?

 _Could_ he eliminate the cape _?_

If he could neither make peace with that thing nor kill it… then he needed to find a way to direct its attention away from his own endeavors. To do that, Coil needed answers. Answers that he was quickly finding out that Tattletale simply didn't have.

"Once more, from the top," Coil stoically commanded.

"You're scared," his tool's nervous laughter bubbled out hysterically. "Good."

Coil didn't reply, simply electing to drag his knife across a thin slice of unbroken skin. Lightly enough not to break the skin, but with enough pressure to remind her of who held the power.

Coil's little… _reminder_ was enough to send his tool chattering away.

"I don't know if the guy is her father, but his body language betrays a protective –almost _possessive_ –emotion towards her. He showed up and blocked sunlight in an obvious display of power, so he might be inclined towards dramatics. Or it could've just been a quick way to command attention and fear before leveraging it later in whatever dialogue he had with the PRT. His sudden appearance was meant to show off his power, though he could've been bluffing… Start out with the best card in your deck and make them wonder what else you have up your sleeve."

No more than she had said in the previous timeline. So, his tool _wasn't_ holding back on him.

Good.

"The girl."

Tattletale's split lips curled into a frown. Perhaps his tool felt a lingering distaste for the woman? Maybe a fading remnant of her first encounter with the cape? Interesting. Coil took note of his tool's uneasy feelings about the Case 53.

He could leverage it later, in a more necessary timeline.

"That _'girl'_ is of artificial design –her bodily proportions are just too symmetrical to be a natural occurrence. She's sapient at human levels and _young_ , despite what you're thinking. Based on figure, she's probably a teenager (but who knows with her origins) and either _very_ skilled or just plain naive. Could be some mix of both, though, since it's obvious that the cape's never been away from her home. Her talons are sharp enough that she has to step carefully, possible Brute rating. _Probably_ not a Changer or a projection since she wears armor –though it could be a bluff."

Coil scowled under his mask. There simply wasn't enough information on this girl… though, if Tattletale was right and this girl _was_ naive, then perhaps he could use that. Dear old Emily was already taking an unnatural interest in this cape –and his moles hinted that it wasn't of a positive sort.

It would be oh so easy to nudge her along. A whisper here, a rumor there. It would ripple up the chain of command and into her ear. Emily Piggot would be kicked into a blind rage and Coil would be there with open arms to shield the poor girl from the big bad director. Then, he would have an in with that _thing_ that showed up –either a chink in its armor or a valuable asset that could sway the thing's opinion of him… and that would allow Coil an amount of leverage for a nonaggression agreement. 

Plan made, Coil began to utilize his tool in a different manner –secure in the knowledge that the timeline was expendable.

Thomas Calvert was alone in his office, closing his work email. While Coil played with his tool, Calvert picked up his phone to make some calls.

After all, Brockton Bay was to be _his_.

He wouldn't allow it to become another Ellisburg. 

In the other timeline, a spent Coil stabbed his knife into Tattletale's jugular.

And closed the timeline.


	6. PHO Interlude: A Stirring of Discontent

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 _You have zero infractions and no warnings. I don't know what happened to make this change, but keep at it and I'll take you off your probationary status next month as a Christmas present._ – Tin_Mother

 **Topic: A New Case 53?  
In: Boards ► Global ►USA ►Brockton Bay ►Capes  
VerdantSeas **(Original Poster)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

Guys, know I don't normally post but **[** **this** **]** happened outside my apartment window and… Well, look!

Edit: Sorry about the shitty quality. I recorded it with my phone and times are tough!

► **NewteredGal** (Cape Groupie)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

Is that even a Case 53? I mean, sure she(?) looks the part, but what about the armor? Is she a tinker? How did she manage to stay hidden for so long?

► **DadBot!** (Not a Bot)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

First!

► **MadreVex**  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

Look at those legs on her!

Edit: No, you idiots! Fucking **[** **look** **]**!

► **TallToweringTowers** (Not a Tower) (Verified Cat Owner)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

MadreVex How did you manage to enhance the video? Tell me your ways, oh wise wizard!

…Also, are those legs looking a little bit… _dragon_ ish to anyone else? Did Lung have a secret lovechild that we don't know about?

► **DoggoneGrin**  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

 _Dude_. The real question is: was she birthed or did she _hatch_?

► **RandomMan** (Moderator)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

That's beneath you DoggoneGrin. That's something that XxVoid_CowboyxX probably would've said six months ago. Take your 24 hour ban and think about the poor girl who's scared out of her mind right now.

► **xX_Void_Cowboy_Xx** (Potentially Reformed)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

TallToweringTowers, See how smooth her strides are? Probably a projection, I guess.

Edit: Just saw the mod's comment. That's fair.

► **ImpromptuEnnui** (Veteran Member)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

Hey everyone, just a reminder that it's dangerous to approach a Case 53 cape before the PRT have had a chance to respond. I know that we're all pretty used to seeing Faultline's crew around the city but for all we know, this girl could have _just_ woken up. Remember what happened with Weld? Don't take any chances, people.

► **Weld** (Verified Cape) (PRT Ward)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

ImpromptuEnnui please tag me if you're going to mention me. Especially over something that I've worked hard to put behind me and make up for. I have a right to respond.

And why is no one talking about what are obviously poorly-censored dead bodies on the ground?

► **BrightestBlight**  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

Hey, Weld. Buddy ol' pal. Look at them. See the once-dressy-but-now-shit clothes? _Classic_ Merchant objectifier, even without the layers of caked on dirt. No one's saying anything because they're politely respecting the sanctity of…

Nope, couldn't even type it. No one gives a shit because they're _Merchants_. Betcha anything that the ENE PRT won't even blink as they recruit her. 

► **ImpromptuEnnui** (Veteran Member)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

XxVoid_CowboyxX, you okay man? I mean, you go off the rez for a few weeks WITHOUT BEING BANNED and then when you come back… Well, I'm not gonna say that you're phoning it in, but you seem… off.

Edit: ye gods, you've been Mastered, haven't you?

 **VerdantSeas** (Original Poster)  
Posted On November 11th 2011:

Update everyone! **[** **Here** **]** you can see Velocity and Miss Militia leaving, but without the girl? I guess she didn't wanna join?

xXx

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■

 **Topic: Merchants March?  
In: Boards ► Global ►USA ►Brockton Bay ►Gangs ►Merchants  
Sleepy_in_Seattle **(Brockton Bay Native) (Original Poster)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

I know I'm an insomniac and still awake from the night before, but these ARE the Merchants, right? I mean, I'm not hallucinating… right? Stuck my tablet out to **[record]** what was going on, but I may or may not be trembling a little bit.

(Please tell me I'm hallucinating from sleep deprivation!)

► **SilentFart** (Not Deadly)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Definitely the Merchants… but why are they making a move like this? Isn't there MO to be lowkey or something?

► **Studious_Student**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

SilentFart, you don't live near the Docks, do you? Sure, anywhere else in town they might keep their heads down (with the exception of Winslow, the sorry shits) but around the Docks most of the homeless are either Merchants or their customers. I won't get into the socio-economic debate of the causality behind it all, but trust me when I say that the Merchants are active enough as is and that I hope to fuck that this isn't a new trend…

► **RandomMan** (Moderator)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Try and keep it civil.

► **MadreVex**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Hey RandomMan! Just saw you last night on Verdant's thread! Burning the midnight oil, are we?

► **RandomMan** (Moderator)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

I'm switched shifts with Tin_Mother. I think that she has a date with her not-boyfriend, but don't hold me to it… All I know is that she was _awfully_ evasive about why she needed the morning free!

(Eh. Either way, I have tonight off!)

► **Pie_n_Peace**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Um. Guys. Armsmaster just blazed by my house on his bike, followed by several PRT vans. They're headed down towards the Dockworker Union building… So. Heads up?

► **Red_Violet_Lilies** (Wiki Warrior)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Pie_n_Peace if they're headed to the Dockworkers, I don't think we have to worry. I mean, have you _seen_ any of the dockworkers? Yum.

 **Sleepy_in_Seattle** (Brockton Bay Native) (Original Poster)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Red_Violet_Lilies I don't know about the others, but I DEFINITELY caught Skidmark on the video.

► **Red_Violet_Lilies** (Wiki Warrior)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Sleepy_in_Seattle, Well. Fuck.

xXx

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■

 **Topic: Where Did the Sun Go?  
In: Boards ► Global ►USA ►Brockton Bay ►News  
Sammie_a_Snack** (Original Poster)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

So I'm just at the library, working on my term paper, when a kind of sub-acoustic _thing_ rocks the building and broke the computer I was working on. What just happened? Is there a new trigger somewhere in town or are the gangs doing a thing again? Because we're not near a faultline, and whoever made me lose SEVEN PAGES OF WORK is gonna kiss my boot _repeatedly_. And no. Not gently.

Edit: I'm typing this from my phone, idiots.

► **PaperThunder**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

No idea, but I'm probably gonna have to have the foundation of my home checked out.

► **BenignAnnoyance**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Um. Whomever did it… Please just give the nice man his daughter back. _Please_.

► **BookishDeer**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Hey guys, I have a bit of a view. Gonna **[** **livestream** **]** it but do NOT expect me to get any closer!

► **MadreVex**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

It's so dark… I can barely make anything out.

► **BookishDeer**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Deal with it MadreVex. I'm not getting closer.

► **CrustyShells**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Considering that the new cape from yesterday's **[** **thread** **]** seems to be his daughter? Smart move… because Daddy doesn't seem to be happy.

► **HearMeMoan**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Dragon Girl rushing out to guard Vista with her body is so romantic!

► **RandomMan** (Moderator)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

HearMeMoan,  
One. Vista is a Ward and thus a _minor_. Stop. Don't push me on this. Take your warning and be glad it's not a tempban.

Two. Probably not the best idea to call the girl "Dragon Girl" with a town that has Lung in it.

Three. It's also a stupid name. There's already a dragon: Dragon.

► **BabblingBrook**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

So…is that an Endbringer or just a biiig Case 53? And… um. How to put this gently… DOES THIS MEAN THAT HE _CREATES_ Case 53 capes!?

► **Red_Violet_Lilies** (Wiki Warrior)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

BabblingBrook I don't think that the man (as…tall as he may be) is an Endbringer. I mean, sure he's got some…power. But he's still humanoid, _hasn't killed anyone_ , and can... you know, _speak_ so... I'd say he's a Case 53? I mean, we can't see the weird brand/tattoo but this video IS low quality (no offense BookishDeer). Maybe he's a Case 53 that's actually… erm. Fertile?

 **Sleepy_in_Seattle** (Brockton Bay Native)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Red_Violet_Lilies I don't know about anyone else, but I REFUSE to think about the implications of that…man having babies the natural way. I'm going to pretend that he's a biokinetic or a biotinker like Nilbog is. Much easier on my scarred mind.

Edit: Wait a minute. _Fuck_.

► **HoneyedVice**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Trying not to panic now, so here's a new idea: if a Case 53 gives birth (or…spawns?) another _unique_ -looking child… Is that child ALSO a Case 53 or is it called something else?

► **CoffeeisLove**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

He stands up, and the PRT's ammunition fades away before it even reaches him? I'm not impressed, I'm _worried_. How are we going to keep this big guy in line if he steps outta line? We've already got Kaiser and LUNG! I don't think the Bay can take another one…

► **TrueBlueValor**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

CoffeeisLove, I think he was protecting his daughter?

► **On_the_Rails**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Did anyone else see his face before he stood up? I mean, the video's grainy as all hell but... I think he looks sad? Maybe angry?

► **CoffeeisLove**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

TrueBlueValor I don't think it matters. I say we birdcage them both as soon as we can, just like we keep trying to with Lung!

► **HoneyedVice**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

So we should just cage any random cape based on what they _might_ do? How does that mesh with the Right to a Fair Trial?

On_the_Rails, really? He looks either angry or sad? Maybe hungry next? Or constipated? What about happy or horny next?

► **RandomMan** (Moderator)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

HoneyedVice, Official Warning to keep it civil. This is the second one I've had to give you today. There won't be a third.

► **MellowVicar**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

HoneyedVice, Sad to be the one to say it, but it _really_ doesn't matter all that much anymore. I mean, look a Canary's situation. It's obvious that she's innocent, but I bet you half of everything I own that she's just gonna get a puppet show of a trial before being booted to the birdcage.

► **BabblingBrook**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

Livestream's over since everyone's left (did it look like the dragony girl was surrounded by PRT responders to anyone else, or was that just how they went back inside?)

MellowVicar, why just half of everything?

► **MellowVicar**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

BabblingBrook Never bet everything at once, even on a sure thing.

► **CoffeeisLove**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

See?

► **MellowVicar**  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

CoffeeisLove, I'm not saying you're right, but let's be honest… when you can throw fireballs, warp biology, and commandeer a person's will, your personal rights kinda go out the window.

► **Icarus** (Verified Cape) (PRT Ward)  
Posted On November 12th 2011:

MellowVicar, That doesn't make it right, especially if that cape has done nothing to warrant such a reaction. There's got to be some amount of good faith lent to parahumans until they decide to break that trust. Otherwise we'll just be herding new triggers into villainy. And what if that new trigger is the next Eidolon? Or the next Alexandria? There needs to be a better system of laws written in to place for how to judge capes who are still learning their powers or have just triggered. An official system. Mandated by law, not this stupid "unofficial" and "unwritten" guidebook.

And as for Canary: this whole process is rushing waaay too quickly for my liking. Where's the investigation? The interviews? The witnesses? Where's her testimony? At least let her write it out, for fuck's sake! This is setting a bad precedent. Besides… nobody can help what powers they get when they trigger.

 **Private Messages:** Icarus (Verified Cape) (PRT Ward)

 **(Ward Message History Extension… enabled):**

 **Aegis:** You got approval from Arms or Piggot to post that, right?

 **Icarus:** Nope.

 **Aegis:** …Did you at least get it vetted through PR?

 **Icarus:** Nope.

 **Aegis:** Fuck, Icarus! We talked about this!

 **Aegis:** There was an entire MEETING about this!

 **Icarus:** My account, my opinions. If Piggy has a complaint, she can talk to me about it directly.

 **Aegis:** …You know she's actually going to do that, right? Again.

 **Icarus:** She'd better bring better arguments this time.

 **Aegis:** Icarus.

 **Icarus:** Aegis, what can she do? I'm not going to remove it and I've not violated any PHO guidelines. If she convinces Dragon to go in and take it down manually, it's gonna kick up attention that she doesn't want right now.

 **Icarus:** She'd lose more cred if she strongarms the system than if the post stays up.

 **Aegis:** Think about this. Please. We like you HERE.

 **Aegis:** …We don't want to see you transferred.

 **Icarus:** They can't and they won't.

 **Aegis:** They might do it ANYWAY if you keep doing things like this.

 **Icarus:** Am I the only one who read the contract before signing up?

 **Icarus:** Besides, they seem to forget that this is just a JOB like any other, not a funnel towards the Protectorate.

 **Icarus:** And the Wards isn't a military branch. It's not even structured like one, for all they like to pretend that it is. It would run just a liiiiittle too close to the whole Child Soldier morality debate.

 **Icarus:** And betcha anything that MM would throw a fit if they did that.

 **Aegis:** …

 **Aegis:** Please don't do anything rash.

 **Icarus:** Dude, you know me. When have I ever done anything rash?

 **xXx**

 **Shoutout to PHOverlord over on Spacebattles for being my template for this PHO chapter.**

 **Also: Made up all the names on the fly, so if they're not intended to represent any specific person IRL. If any of them seem similar to you then it's because there are 7+ billion people on this wet, mossy rock that's flying through the empty black of space and the bitter truth is that none of us are as unique as we'd like to pretend.**

 **Also, also: This version of the fic (the one you're reading now, on ffn) has basically deviated so much from the one on spacebattles that it's** ** _almost_** **a separate fic. This one is the better one, in my opinion. It's gone through far many more edits.**


	7. Chapter Six: An Awkward Meet and Greet

Taylor Hebert was sulking.

There was no other way to put it, really. The past few months had been _hell_. She had triggered back in January and was still no closer to going out as a cape than she had been during those first few weeks.

The tail end of the New Year had been unseasonably warm –even for Brockton Bay –and so Taylor had been able to gather an impressively large swarm of spiders and herd them into the basement of her home.

She had been really rather creative with their placement. A spider in _this_ corner, another in a disused box. One in the shadow of a stored bit of furniture and another hidden behind electrical cords. Here and there Taylor and hidden away her mob of spiders and she had been proud of the result!

Then her dad had gone into the basement to grab a tool for Kurt –or maybe it was the younger Curt, she was always getting those two mixed up –and had opened his toolbox to find a plump (made so through Taylor's meticulous care) spider sitting right on the selfsame tool that he needed.

Hearing her dad's high-pitched squeal had made Taylor smile for the first time in ages. Unfortunately, Danny had gone on a killing spree. Protected in his thick work boots and coat, her father had stalked the basement with a can of insecticide and an old steeltoed boot. Keeping each and every spider docile while her dad purged the basement to the best of his abilities almost made the memory of that squeal unenjoyable.

Almost.

But Taylor had learned her lesson and instead scattered her hoard of spiders throughout Brockton Bay, concentrated around the route that she ran in the mornings –capes need to be in shape, after all. Throughout her morning run, she would check up on them and ensure their health.

After her sixth morning run, Taylor learned that many spiders are territorial. The hard way. While spreading her swarm of spiders, Taylor had put most of her swarm too close together. The spiders had warred against each other for space, no matter how well fed Taylor kept them.

At the time, Taylor had sighed with a bitter resignation –the spiders in her basement simply hadn't lived long enough for space to become an issue. Still, Taylor had wiped the frown off her face and gathered what little remained of the spider population.

Taylor spread them _carefully_ around her morning circuit. By this time, she was getting quite fit, beginning to lose her paunch and extending the length of her route… not that Emma or Sophia noticed, for all that Taylor's newfound fitness (hidden by too-big t-shirts and hoodies that hung loosely off her gangly frame) affected their behavior.

It was just as well. They probably would have found some material there, too.

Of course, then winter hit. An unusually _cold_ winter for a normally warm place like Brockton Bay. It had cut Taylor's spider population down to almost nothing, and she had worked her metaphorical fingers to the bone bringing it back from the brink.

Spiders were placed in small, warmed nests throughout her route –an abandoned construction site, behind a heater, or in a well-protected hollow of a tree. Taylor had studiously kept them fat with a steady supply of bugs that she had cultivated from the odd, random sources of still water throughout the Docks. Taylor then flicked their "gotta mate NOW" switch.

She made sure that if a spider wasn't ready to lay a hundredfold eggs, it sure _wanted_ to.

Whatever gang-related catastrophe had forced Winslow to close school early –no complaints there –had also caused a lot of Taylor's swarm to panic. She had spent _ages_ getting those numbers up to an acceptable level, and she would be damned if she lost them now!

In the end, Taylor had been able to calm most of her spiders down, but it was still _November_ –a thankfully warm November, but still… Almost a full year of powers and still not even a costume to show for it.

It was almost enough to make her want to buy something from Toybox… ignoring the financial impossibility of it, buying something from Toybox held the silent threat of one day being traced back to Taylor's civilian identity. To her _father_. The bitterness of it made Taylor want to scowl, but she settled for sulking. 

Taylor pushed away the voice in the back of her mind that whispered caustic reassurances –after all, she probably would fail at being a hero, too –it sounded too much like Emma for Taylor to take any stock in its vitriol.

The clanging sound of her front door opening broke Taylor out of her thoughts.

" _Taylor_ ," Her dad called from the doorway. "I've brought home a… stray."

A stray.

Taylor felt a faint, ghost of a smile grace her too wide, too thin lips.

Her mom had had a bad habit of bringing home random strays and nursing them back to health. Dogs, cats, even one particularly ugly bird –it had turned out to be a baby vulture. If Annette Hebert drove past a hurt or abandoned animal, odds were that they would end up hosting it in their home. Her dad had always complained about it, but he always smiled while doing so… and Taylor would absolutely _never_ forget that one time when she went down for a sip of water around midnight, and stumbled across a wide-eyed Daniel Hebert in the middle of sneaking in a little baby bunny that had a leg broken by a car.

The memory warmed Taylor's heart even as it _bit_ into it.

Her balding dad walked into the kitchen, followed by the oddest cape that Taylor had ever seen. Tall and lithe, the young woman, clad in a silvery grey armor, dwarfed her gangly father in height –and judging by how her legs were… _crouched_ , she still had several more inches, besides.

The long, scaled tail was pulled flush against herself, contorting with a surprising flexibility.

Taylor panicked, eyes wide.

Her father brought a girl home. A young girl, around her age, if the girl's... _development_ was anything to judge by –at least Taylor wasn't alone in that respect.

 _"Dad?"_ Taylor drew the word out cautiously, unsure of how to begin. How does _anyone_ broach a topic like this?!

Danny gestured to the Case 53 girl behind him. "Taylor, this is Guinevere Black. She's only just arrived in Brockton Bay so she'll be staying with us in the guest bedroom while she gets settled."

Arrived.

...Well, that's one way to put it, Taylor thought. Probably a _bit_ more tactful than "likely woke up in a back alley with no memory of anyone or anything."

Still, there was a… brightness in her father's voice. Buried under several layers of exhaustion and drowsiness, but it was there. Her dad's voice lacked the monotonous drone that it had to it these past two years and there was a spark of life –of interest in the world around him –in his eyes.

Taylor had almost forgotten what her dad was like. _Really_ like.

As he busily shuffled to and fro, carting bags –of supplies for their guest, Taylor hesitantly guessed –Danny had a bustling, energetic feel about him. A passion for _doing_ things and getting things _done_ that Taylor remembered from when her mom had been alive.

Taylor couldn't quite repress the cynically fragile hope that this new change would last.

" _Greetings Taylor Hebert, daughter of Daniel Hebert_ ," the girl spoke, dipping into an oddly complex curtsy –made slightly awkward by the crouch that the tall girl had to stay in to keep her white-blonde hair from brushing against their ceiling. " _I am Guinevere Black, firstborn daughter of Gwyn_."

…What a voice.

That _voice_.

Taylor had spent the last two years studying voices. She knew by the lilt of Emma's barbs if she was just going to make a passing, cutting remark (that was no less painful for its brevity) or if the girl would stop and take the time to pull out an insecurity that Taylor had willingly armed her onetime friend with years prior to lance it into Taylor's heart.

Taylor knew by the undercurrent in Madison's beckoning call if she would be a passive, mostly-silent accessory to Taylor's bullying (lending an unspoken support to her tormentors), or if Madison would chime in with a jab at Taylor's mother. 

But this voice? That _voice_?

Taylor knew voices and knew them well. She had to. And the girl in front of her spoke with an unfamiliar accent. Underneath the soft and resonant voice –that lingered just a bit too long for her comfort –was an undercurrent of an accent that was well hidden by the unusual nature of the speaker's voice. Soft _r_ 's that rolled ever-so-slightly and flowing _L_ 's that Taylor compared to a summer breeze, interspersed with a slightly-too-thick emphasis on the _G_ of her name.

Taylor then realized that Guinevere had not left the curtsy. The Case 53 was obviously waiting for somethi... Oh. Her face blushed and Taylor felt her ears burn with embarrassment.

"Um...Hi?" Damn, as it always this hard to talk to people? "I'm Taylor."

The cape rose out of her curtsy –though still crouching, Taylor noted… that couldn't be comfortable.

"Uh," Taylor bit back a curse at the verbal pause. "Why don't... why don't you sit with me?"

Okay, good. Now… what to say?

 **xXx**

 **So, apparently there's an online generator for PHO chapters… That could have saved me hours of formatting and tedious editing. Eh, whatever. Now I know for next time, yeah?**

 **Anyway, like Daniel like Taylor, right? Both reacting similarly to Guinevere?**


	8. Chapter Seven: Musing of a Madcap

_Little Guinevere looked up to the tall figure standing before her expectantly, her small body surrounded by dead carcasses of the wild beasts that prowled their world. "See, Nito? I told you that I could do it!"_

 _The grotesque amalgamation of death and entropy simply stared at her with those hollow eyes in silence._

 _The faint huffing of a boar echoed throughout the bloodstained meadow as the massive animal rose unsteadily to its feet. A swift flick of her borrowed blade and Guinevere ended the poor pig's misery. She shot a glare to Nito._

" _I know, I know. Never turn your back on your quarry… but I thought that I got it! I got all the others…"_

 _A thin, pale arm –one of many –patted Guinevere on the head in demeaning consolation._

 _Guinevere scowled beneath her mask. "Don't start."_

 _Heedless of the young one's warning, a bone rattling echo sounded through the meadow. A cloud seemed to pass over the sun, hoarfrost radiating out from the thing's many feet, and the forest fell silent._

 _Not a bird or insect dared break the deathly quiet._

 _Well, Guinevere didn't care what the forest thought, she liked Nito's laughter –it happened to rarely that she had taken to comparing them to her daddy's smiles._

 _Now if only Nito wasn't laughing at_ her.

" _Peace, my dearest sister," Nito smiled the vacant, deadened smile. "I meant you no harm."_

 _Guinevere's scowl faded and she sighed an impetuous sigh. "I know. It's just… I just want…_ out _, you know? It all feels so… crowded."_

 _Nito cocked his head in confusion, his black aura idly swirling about his body and reducing all the frozen plants that it grazed to ash. "Our kingdom stretches toward the horizon and beyond, little Guinevere. If we were to separate, our family could roam a thousand years and not encounter each other once."_

" _But what about –"_

 _Nito's swirling aura stilled as he realized Guinevere's concern. "Ah, the other lands. You would save them?"_

 _Guinevere refused to meet his knowing gaze, suddenly fixated on how her claws gripped the cold, bloodsoaked dirt underneath her feet._

 _Nito sighed and leaves fell to the ground with his exhale. "You are young… perhaps you will change your mind."_

 _Guinevere felt a rock crumble to pieces under the sudden strength of her grip._

" _But just in case… perhaps it is time that I move ahead, and begin to introduce warfare into your tutorship. There are years enough between now and your adulthood, but one can never be too careful about these things."_

 _Guinevere's violet eyes snapped up to meet Nito's in surprise._

" _What? Did you think that this Earth was always under our sole dominion?_ Someone _had to remove the squatters out when our lord first arrived."_

xXx

Assault looked out to the bay. Not the city, but the actual bay. The coarse sea breeze mixed with the sound of waves on the beachfront? It was… peaceful, if he ignored the tense sort of quiet that Brockton had going for it lately.

He didn't know what happened between Mr. Union and Mrs. Coldheart, but everyone around the building had been given a memo. It hemmed and hawed a lot, but the bare message of the thing was to be as friendly as possible to the new cape Guinevere and try to soft sell her a pitch to the Wards –with an emphasis on the friendly part.

Who knew that Piggot even know the phrase "soft sell." Almost made him wonder if it was written by another person, and if she had to simply grit her teeth and approve it. Assault sighed heavily, taking comfort in the sight of the bay even as he did his level best to ignore the rusting carcasses of old boats that poked out of the ocean's surface like the jagged remnants of spires from a lost civilization.

Really, the politics of this job were the worst part of turning toward the Light Side. The focus on PR and appearances, the subtle machinations that the brass liked to play their hand at –and did they really think themselves that careful?

Still, Puppy had been right. His methods as Madcap hadn't worked and he was actually making more of a difference as Assault than he had ever thought possible. As Assault, Ethan had been able to push for more leniency towards new triggers –Icarus had been able to take advantage of that work, thankfully enough –and he had worked closely enough with Mr. Union (call-me-Danny) once upon a time, with silent approval from Miss Militia, who had a way of making the Red Tape of Bureaucracy… _bend_ around her. Practically worth another Thinker designation in its own right.

But sometimes, Ethan's hard work didn't seem to amount to anything substantial… not when Canary was facing an express pass to the "Baumann Parahuman Containment Center." Assault resisted the urge to snort in derision. It was the Birdcage. A life sentence where you were at the mercy of madmen, murderers, and the politically inconvenient.

It was a death sentence without the luxury of the title.

And Canary would be sentenced there.

All because the poor woman had an unfortunate power, a panic attack, and an abusive boyfriend. Not that the courts would care, of course. All they cared about was that a parahuman had Mastered a non-cape, ex-boyfriend into killing himself –regardless of the actual facts.

…Icarus wasn't taking the news very well.

And _then_ there was this whole "Endbringer-Daddy" and "dragon-girl daughter" business. Ethan was tempted to write it off as being beyond his paygrade…

But then he remembered the fragile smile in that girl's eyes after her father left her.

The way her voice trembled subtly under the echo of her words.

If that was how the man treated his "most favored" of all his kids, then Assault really didn't want to know how he treated the others…

Fuck, now he wanted to punch that maybe-Endbringer-maybe-Case-53 in the face.

Maybe Puppy was right, maybe he'd make a half-decent parent… one day.

Eventually.

But for now, Ethan was more than willing to take the midnight patrol –Velocity was around here somewhere, no doubt just a quick radio-call away –and look out at the sea.

" _My family did not have this back home."_

Speak of the devil and lo, a lost-looking girl will appear.

"Hey Guinevere, how're you holding up?"

 **xXx**

 **Short chapter, but I wanted to go ahead and get it out while I had the time. Tell me what you think? Reviews are encouraged and appreciated!**


	9. Chapter Eight: An Awkward Discussion

Assault glanced up at the girl, her bone-white mask gleaming in the starlight.

"Hey Guinevere, how're you holding up?"

" _I am well."_ She cocked her head at an angle thoughtfully. _"I sought you out to inform you that I have apprehended several criminals."_

Apprehended.

Assault sighed. He should probably radio Control and let them know…

Nah. Velocity can be there in a heartbeat if he needed it and MM's stressing enough for the whole of their little branch these days –retraining the Wards, playing Computer Monitor, and dealing with Beardface's socially stunted self is enough for anyone to go mad.

Besides, how bad can it really be?

 **xXx**

Very bad, it turns out.

A large pile of pale bodies lay in the middle of the sidewalk, the blood pooling underneath it congealing quickly in the brisk air of the winter's night.

" _Guinevere_... didn't Piggot give you that pamphlet on excessive force and powers," Assault drawled, eyeing the mound with a cautious eye. There're a few Merchant dealers he recognized… an old, retired ABB enforcer that's been playing the part of an angry drunk recently. Dead, now. Welp, that's one thing to cross off the List of Many Petty Annoyances.

Wait… is that a swastika tattoo?

Kinda hard to tell, with all the blood.

" _I did not need excessive force,"_ the tall girl replied lightly. Assault could practically hear the genuine smile of pride and humor behind that stoic mask… actually, how'd she avoid getting blood spattered on it? Her armor's drenched in the stuff –to the point of looking ominously dark in the blueblack of the night. _"They sought to strike me first, thus allowing me to respond in kind out of 'self-defense.'"_

Assault idly wondered just how he would be able to word this in his report to keep Guinevere out of trouble. The girl doesn't really seem to understand second chances… or restraint, for that matter.

Piggot probably would've seen this as Guinevere disassociating from humanity as a whole… she'd no doubt then push for a kill order while ranting about how "that thing needs to go before it has a chance to learn how we operate, blah blah blah, subverting our methods, insert radical discriminatory phrasing about killing us all."

Honestly, the poor girl can't control her origins. And if her dear daddy was even half as cuddly as he seemed… well, is it any wonder that a child of his might need a little bit of a… learning curve?

Assault restrained a sigh.

At least Armsy isn't on patrol tonight. Dear Colin wouldn't have responded well to such a flagrant disregard for the law, or the unexpected threat to the current status quo –regardless of the innocent intent behind it. Hiding behind some dusted off regulation, the Tinker probably would've tried bringing Guinevere in out of a mix of righteous indignation and pricked pride. Really, the man needed to loosen up on rules and regulation.

Actually, so did Dragon for that matter. Hmm… maybe they could loosen up together? But how to go about arranging it? Armsy's too oblivious to notice that Dragon spends most of her well-earned favors on needless "tinker-tech consultations" with him. Idiot might even _genuinely_ think that Dragon of all people needs his help.

Really Colin, She's _Dragon_ of all people. The reverse-engeinner the captured magic tech of our enemies and turn it into _our_ superpowered magic tech. Why would she need your help?

Not that the Canadian tinker is any better, of course. Poor girl would probably blush like a virgin on her wedding night if Ethan tried to do anything _too_ blatant. Maybe he could get Puppy in on this. She seemed to be having fun playing matchmaker with Icarus and Shadow Stalker –not that the two Breakers really have all that much in common.

Well… thoughts for another day.

For now, Ethan was just thankful that there was a silent sort of… unspoken agreement around the office to keep Guinevere away from Director Coldheart and Captain Beardface as much as possible –until Guinevere crosses a line. Aegis had actually been the one to convince most of the Wards to be friendly to her. Vista's still a _little_ wary, but even she agreed to give Guinevere a chance to make her own decisions.

To give the girl a chance to be her own person, to make something of herself…

 _A_ chance.

Now it's up to him to try and keep Guinevere from losing that chance before she's even started acclimating to… humans. Would the girl be offended by being thought of as humans? Does she even consider herself human? How does humanity compare to her? Hm…

"I thought that you were staying at Hebert's house?"

" _Daniel Hebert fell asleep soon after arriving to his abode. His daughter seemed... disconcerted with my presence."_ Guinevere murmured quietly, the tip of her tail gently brushing against the concrete. _"I thought it better to wander for a spell, if only to allow her time enough to fall asleep."_

Hebert had a daughter? That's right, he did, didn't he? What was her name? George from Sigma Squad mentioned it offhand when Hebert came burst through like hell on wheels the other day…

…Thalia? Taylor? Something like that, he was sure. Probably around Shadow Stalker's age by now, right? Puppy said something about being a little hellion around that time, so maybe it was a puberty thing. Ethan was an only child and had never really had any close friends growing up.

"Maybe she needs time to get to know you?"

"… _Perhaps. She held herself well, ready to fight or to flee at a moment's notice,"_ Guinevere mused aloud, vague approval in the echoes of her voice. _"Never let me out of her sight, and arranged herself to be easily overlooked."_

Easily overlooked? That can't be right.

Didn't George say that his squad did security for the Dockworker's Union once? That Hebert had wrangled some pro bono "official protection" from Director Coldheart for a construction project. Something about the kid being a "delightful little chatterbox" and "almost enough to make me want one of my own."

But kids changed right? Teenage drama, puberty-fueled angst and all that? Just in case, Ethan made a mental note to talk to Shadow Stalker and Dean. See if one of them knew the girl... something felt off.

" _Not that it would have helped,"_ Guinevere's idle musing cut through Assault's intense contemplations. _"Honestly, you humans are rather… fragile. I fail to understand why more of you do not wear armor."_

"Well," Assault began with a smirk. "Most of us aren't nearly as rough with each other as you are with us. And for the most part, we capes try and keep the squishy civies out of our brawls."

" _Except for your insurgents,"_ Guinevere returned.

"Which is why they're criminals," Assault nodded, feeling his budding good humor fade. "And not all of them serve their gangs willingly. Some've been pressganged into it or feel like they don't have another option. Part of the law's job is to show that there are other options."

" _But there are not. Not always."_

"No… not always," Assault winced. "But that's why we try to improve. Try to better ourselves and to learn from our missteps. Because sometimes we can turn an enemy into a friend. An opponent into an ally."

" _A turncoat will turn again,"_ Guinevere declared with an odd sort of finality. _"You should not leave beasts at your back."_

Assault sighed. Puppy was so much better at explaining this than he was… albeit, he had needed it beaten into him, but that wasn't exactly her fault –he was the thick one.

 **xXx**

 **Polished up for grammar. Trying to avoid slipping into "passive voice" where it's unwarranted. Doing so makes it seem like things are happening at a distance, like you're reading a screenplay of a movie rather than (an attempt at) a story.**

 **Probably going to revise it more later on. Life happens and free time is scarce.**

 **Eric Jtunn: thanks for the feedback! This's my first attempt at writing something non-academic related, so I know that I have a lot of room to grow. I really, genuinely, appreciate the time you took to provide feedback! I've edited the wording to make it seem a little bit more stream-of-consciousness and to (hopefully) fix the confusion of him knowing/not knowing about Taylor's existence. As for the info-dumps… yeaaaah, I'm trying to work on that. I'm not great at writing fiction but I'm hoping that with experience and EDITS GALORE I can fix that.**

 **^.^**

 **Akallas: Hey, fancy seeing you here! What's a person like you doing on a forum like this? I'm glad that you like what you're reading! Even if what you're reading is the rough, unholy bastard child of a first time writer with far too many thoughts and little enough time to write**

 **x3**


	10. Canon Omake: Why a Caged Bird Sings

**Started to reread worm a while back. Got to Canary's trial. Was struck with a consuming, indignant fire at Canary's sham of a trial. Miscarriage of justice pissed me off. I wrote a thing about that.**

 **xXx**

Paige's body ached something _fierce_. Being bound and gagged like an unruly animal being led to slaughter will do that to a girl… of course, with where Paige was going, they might as well have sentenced her to death. It wouldn't been more humane.

As it was, her hands were linked behind her back with hefty constraints, binding her in such a way that the young woman had constantly contort her spine to keep the pressure off of her wrists –the thin little things were buried in buckets immensely larger than themselves, filled with a dense pastel yellow foam that rubbed at Paige's skin every time she so much as thought about shifting her weight.

Thick bands of metal had been tightened, conforming to her armpits and wrapping around her ribcage and biting into the soft flesh of her waist –leaving no room for a hope of movement. Two sheets of fat, heavy tinker-tech metal curled around her skinny ankles and immense, implacable chains seemed to crisscross and connect to just about every other inch of her frame, constraining her movement to an unnatural degree.

Paige could do no more than shift her weight between her feet –and hardly that –before feeling the immovable resistance of the chains that enslaved her to her spot on the otherwise empty transport. A heavy collar of dark plastics bound her neck in place and would have better belonged to an old, pre-Scion tank than as part of a constraint. Its sickly green tinkertech light blipped so rarely that she often forgot about the purpose of the collar before it reappeared. When it did, Paige was reminded of the bomb wrapped tightly around her neck, and her heart plummeted with the renewal of a panicked fear.

All this to restrain Paige… and yet, a pair of handcuffs would have been just as effective.

In spite of what the courtroom had speculated, Paige had no enhanced muscles. She had no inhuman flexibility or otherwise hitherto hidden trick that might allow her to slip her restraints.

But the mere notion that Canary _could_ have a hidden strength or _might_ be a flight risk had resulted in a "Brute 0, to be updated later" slapped on Paige's record and allowed the courtroom to justify using the very same precautions that were designed to hold back Lung –the Dragon of Kyushu, the one who repelled fucking Leviathan –on little, itty bitty Canary.

"Let the current recording show that the prisoner, hereafter dubbed 'Canary,' has been successfully transported. As per the recommended protocols following a prisoner with suspected Brute ratings, reinforced restraints that are capable of withstanding up to Brute 9, were utilized as prisoner constraints. In line with the standard Master containment regulations, only autonomous or remote-controlled constructs were utilized in her transportation to the 'Birdcage,' with no human personnel or prisoners ever brought within the recommended three hundred yard minimum distance of her position. Releasing her now. Hello, Canary."

The digitalized voice – _no doubt to protect the speaker's identity_ , Paige thought bitterly –broke the innumerable hours of silence that had been her constant companion throughout the long flight. Paige blinked in surprise as the thick constraints that held her leashed to the bulkhead suddenly hissed open, sending her crashing awkwardly to the floor.

Liquid from somewhere inside the buckets shot into the foam, and Paige pulled her hands free from the dissolving restraint, rubbing her thin wrists where the too-tight containment foam had rubbed her skin raw. Rising from the floor on wobbly-weak legs, Paige stumbled right back down to the cold floor.

Her legs were tremblingly numb, not a good sign. What if she needed to run as soon as she was tossed in?

"I followed your… _trial_ ," the voice continued hesitantly. "It shouldn't have ended the way that it did. Your situation might have been a reckless, foolishly avoidable incident, but you don't deserve to be _here_ …"

Fingers interlocking over her head, Paige stretched from her spot on the ground. A cacophony of cadaverous pops and cracks resounded from her aching spine.

"No, you don't deserve to be here. For what it's worth, I personally lobbied the President to directly pardon your case, wrote a letter to your judge, left voicemail after voicemail to the DA, and I even spoke to your _governor_ to say as much. It… it wasn't enough. None of it was enough. I'm sorry."

In spite of herself, the genuine sympathy in the distorted voice slammed past Paige's guarded heart, bringing tears to her eyes. The courtroom, her judge, her own damned lawyer hadn't been half so sympathetic to Paige.

"I have to do my job" The voice said, and the defense felt empty to all involved. Especially Paige. "Whatever I might feel, I- I _can't_ let you go. Understand?"

Silence was Paige's chosen answer. She didn't trust her voice right now. Instead, she focused on trying to stand.

"Look, I'm sticking you in cell block E. There's a woman, Lustrum, that's set herself up in that cell block. She's a pretty… radical feminist and extremely misandrist. You might think she's insane, but Lustrum _viciously_ protects her girls. If you can convince yourself to be swayed by her ideology (or at least pretend to be), then … then Lustrum will keep you as safe as you _can_ be." 

Left unsaid was that she would be as safe as she could be _in the birdcage_.

From her spot on the floor, Paige nodded in bleak resignation. She could feel the first apathetic tendrils of hopelessness creep inside her soul.

Suddenly, she didn't mind her inability to stand.

"I retain control over the Birdcage and I have the ability to observe its inmates, but I can _only_ respond in the event of a natural disaster that might threaten the structural integrity of the prison. I will not… _cannot_ intervene if another inmate damages something vital to your collective lives." Paige thought that the voice broke at that admission. "I'll be there if you want to speak to me, Paige. I promise you, I'll hear every word that you say to me, but I'll never be able to respond. I _can't_ respond… Now, I'm going to be depositing you in the elevators in a moment. You're going to be given a finite amount of oxygen –just enough to last until you hit the bottom."

Bulky, arms of fibrous metal interwoven with hard plastic stretched into the empty carrier and dexterously grasped Paige around her waist. Plucking her up, the arm moved her from the silent transport – _terrible acoustics, anyway_ –and gently placed inside a small, boxed room that was just large enough to hold the small woman.

"I won't ask you to forgive me, Miss Mcabee," the mechanical voice sounded mournfully from beyond the closing doors. "I'm sorry… and good luck."

The ground beneath Paige shuttered, and she began to descend.

From her place on the floor, Paige took a deep breath to calm herself down, heedless of her limited air. She needed the help.

When that didn't work, she began to count backwards from 10.

 _10, 9, 8…_

At four, there was a creaking (almost _groaning_ ) sound of protesting metal. Startled, Paige leaned as far away as she could from the side of the cramped elevator that the sound had come from.

A twisting, warping circle carved itself into the metal side of the wall. No foam leapt out toward the young woman. Instead, Paige Mcabee gazed through the doorway to the most beautiful scenery that the she had seen in recent weeks. The vacuum was broken, and a warm breeze gently caressed her cheek –carrying with it the fresh, earthy odor of a forested wilderness to her nose.

Through the haze of distorted space, Paige saw the largest castle that she had ever thought to imagine, sitting almost incongruously atop a high mountain and surrounded by a dense forest that spread beyond the horizon. The immense structure of marble columns and spacious archways greatly dwarfed the woman, even at the distance. Inanely, she thought that this must be what a cat feels inside of a house. Everything was made for a people so much _larger_ than herself.

While Paige wasn't the most prideful person –especially in light of recent events –she felt humbled even still.

Stuck with the choice to ride the broken elevator down to the birdcage, or risk this unknown land and its potential freedom, Paige's decision was clear. Her legs useless from the trip, she crawled through the disk of wavering light and distorted space.

Paige Mcabee was met with the warm embrace of a noontime summer sun.

 **xXx**

 **Also: minor edits to last chapter due to feedback. It also contains responses to some reviews there. Nothing major, feel free to ignore the changes if you feel so inclined.**


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